


Swashbuckling Sweethearts

by Timeforelfnonsense



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: D&D Lore, Everyone is a bi icon, F/M, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Half Elf, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Pirates, Rewrite, WIP, fable is a d&d oc that moonlights as my arcana oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timeforelfnonsense/pseuds/Timeforelfnonsense
Summary: My retelling of Julian & The Apprentace. This is a rewrite of an older fic I was very unhappy with so it might seem a bit familiar.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Asra/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Original Female Character(s)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, the long-promised rewrite of my arcana long fic! My plan was to delete the old chapters as I went but I lost my inspo to keep writing this a while ago so I'll be leaving the old chapters up for a while. That being said if you start with this you will be VERY confused if you read them as one narrative. This however is part of Of Fools & Lovers and reads just fine with that! Maybe I will add more maybe I won't. Who can say.

A smile crept onto his lips as he weaved through the streets of the south end. Muddied rainwater lapped at the soles of his boots with each confident stride. He kept playing it over, and over in his mind. The look on Asra’s handsome, but perpetually, smug face when he burst through the door of his little shop in the city center. So much of his memory was lost and that what remained was hazy and blurred around the edges. Yet, the sting of resentment he felt when he conjured memories of Asra was plenty clear. He slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, running a gloved finger over the smooth purple stone in the bow of the key. He thought Asra never seemed the paranoid sort in the time they had been acquainted. Hopefully, that observation held true as he had chosen to forgo a set of lock picks in favor of the odd, moss-covered, skeleton key he’d been gifted years ago. 

It was a safer plan. He was already taking a risk wandering out into a part of the city with any real presence of the place guard. At this hour he could slip past them easily enough, pass himself off as just another resident of the well-populated district on their way home for the night. They might, however, take notice of a man crouched by a back door, brandishing a well-used set of lock picks. If they didn’t recognize him right away, they would talk him to the place where someone inevitably would. He had to get answers before he was hauled off to the dungeons to face the hangman’s noose. Asra likely held the missing fragments of his memory from the past few years. If he didn’t…

Well, surely Asra could use some eye of newt, tongue of frog, mystical nonsense to recover what Julian had lost. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant option and not his first choice. He shivered at the phantom sting of a sliced palm. The heavy, vicious magic that hung thickly in the little magic shop had weighed so heavily on his chest that night. Deep Purple smoke billowed from the back room, leaving an oily residue on his skin and burned his eyes. Julian coughed into his elbow, choking on the enacted pollution swirling around him. He rummaged through his satchel pulling the worn white medical mask free, placing it on his face. The heavy leather provided some relief to his heaving lungs. Even so, the sheer weight of the magic pressed heavily on his spirit. 

“Asra? Asra, we need to talk!” He shouted, “Gods, What have you gotten yourself into?”

He pressed on, struggling more and more to see through the murky fog as he neared the back room. There Asra sat, working over a bubbling cauldron filled with an inky black soup. Julian wrinkled his nose, even though his mask he could smell it. Pungent and earthy herbs mixed with rancid mulberry wine.

“Ilya?” Asra’s voice was calm, boarding on uninterested, “Hmmm, what are you doing here? I said I was fine walking home on my own.”

“Asra! Are you-”

Julian took a step closer but paused when the witch held a hand up to halt him, his lavender eyes drawing attention to the floor. A circle of pulsing, sickly green runes, glowed inches away from his feet. 

“I have to invite you in, Ilya. Or it could harm the ritual.” Asra walked over to him, extending a welcoming hand. As soon as he stepped into the circle the oppressive weight of Asra’s spell melted away. His shoulders sagged in relief as his lugs took in a deep breath. Asra smirked, slipping off his mask. His hands running through Julian’s messed curls. Amusement danced in his eyes as he gave Julian a lingering one over. 

“Asra! What is this?” Julian exclaimed gesturing to the murky darkness that covered them. “Are you fooling around with that hocus pocus of yours? The Count wants results, not magic tricks!”

“Can’t you tell?” Asra mused, taking Julian’s chin between his thumb and index finger. “Just a magic trick. If you’d like to help, I’m sure I could find some use for you..”

A hot flush broke out across his cheeks and his heart began to sputter. Asra simply chuckled darkly, licking the seam of his lower lip. His brain was screaming at him to turn around and leave Asra to whatever dark magic he was summoning. He was no magician but, it was abundantly clear that whatever this was, it was far from benevolent. He glanced over at Asra who had returned to his ghoulish brew and his heart sank. How could he leave him to face whatever ilk he was conjuring? What if something went wrong and he was hurt and he had walked away? No. He couldn’t let some he cared for befall that fate…

“Will this help?” Julian steeled himself, making no small effort to keep his voice even, “If I do this… Will it change anything?”

Asra shrugged, “I hope so. Blood. Bone. Sweat and tears. All sorts of things make powerful catalysts for these spells. I wonder… How much are you willing to give up Ilya?”

“I’ll give you all of me if that’s what it takes.”

Asra responds by pulling him into a hot, panicked kiss. His finger lacing through his hair once again. He yanked hard at the root, pulling Julian deeper into his embrace. A little gasp escaped his lugs as he breathed Asra in. Savoring the sweetness of his lips and the burn of his hand as Asra created a deep gash across his palm. He broke the kiss to run his tongue along Julian’s bloodied palm.

“All of you? Oh, Ilya... For now, I just need your hand.”

A warm blush crept across the bridge of his nose to the very tips of his ears as he returned to the present. He had chased after Asra for so long. And up until that night he had rebuffed all of his efforts to be anything more than colleges. A tender ache radiated from his chest, burning through his ribs and making his brows knit in disapproval. He still craved some form of his approval despite everything that had transpired between them. He shook his head, shaking the rain from his auburn curls. He knew there had been something more than simple disinterest that had strained their relationship and ultimately turned it sour. Such thoughts only lead to memories buried so deep in the fog of his mind they were completely beyond his reach. His fingers lingered on the line of his throat. Perhaps that night had been the genesis of his troubles. The curse, his memories, all of it. He had been a fool not to ask questions before taking part in some kind of blood sacrifice! Magic of such a dark persuasion likely had a cost. He would get his answers tonight. One way or another.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you have to go?” Fable purred as she leaned her cheek against her hand, “It’s so dull when you leave!” Asra laughed as he rolled his violet eyes at her honeyed tone. He mirrored her posture on the opposite side of the counter, a small grin forming on his lips. 

“Of course I do.” He playfully chided, “It’s a new moon. The ideal time to start a journey. Fable, I know you far too well to be dissuaded by your charm.” 

It was her turn to roll her eyes. She stuck out her tongue and scrunched her nose. Her displeasure was mostly in jest. However, she did find Asra’s leaving somewhat frustrating. He’d been the first face she’d seen. A tender sting started in her temples as her mind drifted to the past. Only a small discomfort, nothing like when she attempted to push deeper into her mind, past the fog that hid the entirety of her life away. No, this was a softer pain, a dull, melancholy feeling she could exist in for a few moments. He was the only person she knew well. She often caught others casting warry glances her way in the market. Whispering amongst each other in harsh tones. Her fingers traced the pointed line of her ear. Perhaps it was the fact she wasn’t completely human. Or, it could be the fact she was a ‘witch’ as those too small-minded for the magical arts might call her. It didn’t matter. Regardless of the motivation, the people of the city didn’t trust her.

“I’m not looking forward to being alone.” 

“You won’t be alone. Bonnie will be with you.”

Fable sighed glancing over to Bonnie who was curtly purring in the form of a fluffy, orange tressym on the shop counter. She chirped softly at the mention of her name be for rolling to expose her white belly, wings outstretched. 

“Perhaps if I leave you in the company of a few other friends as well you won’t be quite as lonely.”

He reached into his patchwork bag and produced a familiar velvet bag. Asra’s tarot deck! He had hand-painted each card, imbued them with magic much stronger than the common decks they sold in the shop. Her golden eyes sparkled as he offered her the deck. 

“Are you sure?” 

Asra nodded, “Of course! You have a real talent for divination and it will give you something to do when it’s slow.” 

A dazzling grin broke across her face as she began to bounce on the balls of her feet.

“How about a reading then?” She inquired with an arched brow, “For the road.” 

“Excellent suggestion”

A familiar warmth washed over her as Asra laced his fingers through her own. No matter where fate might take them, she took comfort in knowing that they could always find their way back to one another. 

The key turned in the lock with a soft and satisfying click. He let out the breath he had been holding since he turned the corner for the little magic shop. Silently he slipped through the back door into the little back room. A fortuneteller’s booth tucked away in the back corner of the shop just as he remembered it. He’d always found this room a bit tacky: the garish, star-patterned curtains that separated it from the rest of the shop, the absurd number of candles that littered the cramped space, the strange and brightly colored furniture. He absent-mindedly ran a finger across the thing he liked in the room. A multi-colored glass window, recalling the way it cast little rainbows across the room when the sun hit it just right. Beyond the velvet curtain, he could hear the sound of lilt singing and the shuffling of wears. The curiosity got the best of him and he carefully peeks through a gap in the fabric into the store proper. 

A lovely young woman flited about the empty store. Small pointed ears, stuck out from her sea of cinnamon-brown curls. Julian shook his head in disbelief. 

Like most humans, the magic and mystery that shrouded the elves intrigued him. They were reclusive people keeping to their cites and forests for the most part but, like so many others he had grown up on tales of the fairy folk, heard tell of their unparalleled beauty and otherworldly nature. Watching her from the shadows, she didn’t seem all that otherworldly but her beauty was surely not in question. She had a lovely heart-shaped face with a delicate, slightly upturned nose. Her lips were full and rose pink with a small beauty spot just above them on one side. Strong, full brows framed her most striking feature: bright eyes the color of liquid gold. 

There was something about her. A familiar sway to her hips, a look in her eyes. Had she worked here when he and Asra…

He had little time to think about the pain pricking at his mind before he felt something brush up against his shins. An orange cat nuzzled against him. That alone would not be too suspect but attached to its fluffy back was a set of wings. 

Why was nothing concerning Asra normal!? He remembered that damn snake but a winged cat? That was new. It looked at him with almost human mischief in its expression before opening his mouth to meow. 

“Bonnie?” 

The creature began to force him out of the back yowling and flapping its wings in his face. Despite his best efforts, he found himself out on the floor of the shop, staring down at the lovely shopkeeper.

He did his best to put on a charming smile.

“Strange hours for a shop to keep.”

She raised her left hand as a warning flashing the small storm brewing her palm. 

“This **is** the witch’s lair.” He mused, running across a nearby bookshelf. He flashed her a roguish grin. Despite his bravado, she could sense the uneasiness he was trying to quell. “But, who might you be?”

He took a step closer. Too close to her tastes. She snarled at him and sent the bolt of magic in his direction. Her shot went wide, crashing into a lantern behind him with an electric crackle. He yelped as he narrowly ducked out of the way. He chuckles in response. Her blood boiled at his indignant response. Had her shot hit he’d have been on his ass crying for his mother.

“Oh, has the witch been teaching you his tricks? Unfortunately for you, I’ve seen them all befo-”

She reached below the counter snatching the first thing she could find. The glass bottle hit his head with a crack, shattering on his temple. She hopped over the counter before he could regain his bearings. Trusting her shoulder into him she had him pinned against the counter.

She could see the surprise only start to register on his face when his cheek was flush with the cool surface of the counter. She was small and soft in appearance but he’d soon find she was no damsel in distress. She yanked the dagger she kept tucked in her stalking free to hold it level with his windpipe

“What. Do. You. Want.”

He felt the cool press of a blade against his throat. The night had certainly taken an unexpected turn. He could feel the cut on his temple sting as it dripped onto the counter. She pushed more of her weight into his side, her shoulder digging into his side. 

“You do have guts.” He couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. 

She hadn’t appreciated that as she pressed the knife closer to his Adam's apple.

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

Her voice was firm. The sound of the soft rolling of thunder and the prickling feeling of magic electricity made the hair on the back of his neck stand.

He gave her a cautious glance. Her golden eyes were burning, her brow creased with impatience. Her fierceness, the steel so precariously against his throat… He knew with the mark she couldn’t do any real damage. In the absence of fear, his mind began to wander… 

No. Not the time for that.

“Now that’s what I call an introduction,” he hadn’t intended to sound so wistful...“I was looking for Asra but, it seems he’s not here.”

She seemed to hesitate just a bit at the mention of Asra. Confusion flickering behind her eyes for a fraction of a second. 

“Look,” He tried to keep his tone calm and measured, “I’m not hurt to hurt you. I promise.”

She laughed, shaking her head, “I do believe you’ll find you are in no position to hurt me!”

He rolled his eyes and slipped out from her pin, snatching the dagger on his way out. She gasped ramping up the magic in the air.

“Wait! Wait!” He held his hands up offering her the dagger, the point facing himself, “See, I meant it. You can pin me again if it makes you feel better?” 

She narrowed her eyes but accepted his gesture. His shoulders dropped their tension as he leaned on the counter. She was still wary. Her gaze stayed fixed on him as she slid the dagger back into her garter.

Reasonable. 

“Well, no sense in wasting the visit.” He leaned towards her but, this time she didn’t pull back. “You’re a fortune teller, aren’t you? Tell my fortune.”

“Ha! Let’s review, shall we? You break into my store and you have the gall to ask me for a reading?”

It was an odd request he had to admit. There was something about her though… Something he needed more time to untangle in his mind. This seemed a harmless enough way to steal a few more moments to place her in his shattered memories. 

“Come on, what could be the harm?”

She remained silent. Her arms crossed, an icy stare fixed on him. He flashed her a playful grin, one brow raised. 

She lets out a vexed groan. “Fine, but if you try anything,” She jabbed a finger against his chest, “I won’t hesitate to hurt you.

_ Don’t threaten me with a good time… _

“Go on, no need to be shy.” He coxed, pulling the chair out for her before taking his seat across the way.

“Patronizing asshole.” She muttered under her breath. Unfortunately, it seemed he hadn’t taken notice. Pity. 

He was lucky she was a curious creature. Her desire to divine some kind of understanding for the evening's events was stronger than her urge to stab him. If he wouldn't give her answers perhaps the cards would. She shuffled the cards in her hands, forced on the gentle hum of each as they passed over her palms. “You’ll have to tell me your name.” 

“My name?”

He blinked a few times as if her voice had pulled him from some far off place. A soft pink blush began to glow on the tips of his ears. How very interesting. She tried to soften the edges of her tone. 

“For the reading. You know, the one I’m giving you despite my better judgment? Right now?” 

She let a blithe smile fall across her face as she leaned her head to the side. The brush spread across the rest of his face deepening from baby pink to a vibrant ruby red. Interesting indeed. The treat of getting stabbed or magically roasted, no big deal. The bat of eyelashes and honeyed words had turned him into a blushing fool.

“Oh. Right. Yes, of course,” He stammered, “You can call me Julian.”

“Alright, now we are getting somewhere.” She danced her fingertips across his wrist, feeling his pulse jump, “Was that so hard?”

She closed her eyes, cutting the deck, once, twice, three times before setting three cards on the table in front of him. Slowly, she turned the first card over, the image of a horse's skull, cloaked in shadow. The voice is quiet but familiar none the less.

“Death, transformation…”

Before the words could finish leaving her mouth, the intruder- Julian interrupted her with a sharp laugh. “Death? Death?” He shook his head, and pushed past the back room curtains with a flourish, “Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away. She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

“ No, that isn’t even what Death means!”

“No, no, my fate is sealed” He lamented, a leather-clad hand gripped at his auburn curls.

“Are you always this morose?” She inquired, fingers pinching between her brows.

“Unfortunately.” He gave her another lingering look. “It’s late and I shouldn’t keep you. Seek me out if you ever grow bored of the witch.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you even wear to meet a countess?” Fable groaned as she tossed another frock onto her cluttered bed.   
She’d been standing around in little more than her stays and stockings for the better part of an hour now. Most of her wardrobe was made up of working clothes, far more suited to the life of a shopkeeper or an adventurer than a lady of the court. She did have a few nice things: silky gowns and lacy things but, those weren’t in the Vesuvian style. Would that be some kind of offense to the countess? To appear before her in a gown that may have since fallen out of fashion in even the place she had acquired it? She pulled another from the wardrobe, a silky cream number with flowers embroidered across the skirt.   
She sighed as she began to fasten the Peattie coats over her shift, tying them just above the bum roll she had dug out from the pine chest at the foot of her bed. The anxiety clawed its way through the fog despite its root being long lost to her now. Whoever she had been before she awoke in Asras arms, she certainly had not spent much time among the titled and wealthy. She slipped her arms into the sleeves of her gown, her shaking hands making fastening the little buttons down the front a challenge.   
She brushed the wrinkles from her skirt and sat at the humble vanity. Makeup was a quick enough affair for her. She reached for her rouge but hesitated. Was that considered woreish here? She shook her head and grabbed it anyway.  
“Hopefully the Countess isn’t the prudish and judgmental sort.”  
As a finishing touch, she dusted the soft, pearlescent powder Asra had brought her from the stalls of a seaside market across the apples of her cheeks and the line of her nose. She detested his secret-keeping but she has to admit the thoughtful gifts he brought her often helped soften the blow. Her slender hand wrapped around a jeweled comb, carefully brushing her hair into a loose, curly bun. She smiled at her reflection.   
“Perfect.” she cast her eyes to Bonnie who had made herself a quite cozy bed out of the pile of dresses, “Come along. But perhaps something less eye-catching for the palace?”   
With an affirmative chirp, her tressym form disappeared in a shimmering puff of smoke leaving a small cream and orange songbird in its place. She flitted over, perching herself atop her master’s head. “Lovely. Now let’s go meet a countess.”  
The streets of Vesuvia bustled with foot traffic. Merchants shout from their stalls, each promising wears and wonders found nowhere else in the world. The mouth weathering smell of warm pumpkin bread and honey fills her nose as she drew closer to her favorite stall.  
“Fable! Have you eaten? I’ve got that pumpkin loaf you like in the oven. Won’t be long now.” The baker shouts, waving her over.  
She stopped at the familiar stall and gave Selasi a gentle smile. The baker had always been kind to her and Asra. He never called them witches or cast sidelong glances as they walked past. He was always happy to hear about Asra’s last trip or Fable’s newest compositions.   
“How long will it be?”  
“Hmmm, how does 30 minutes sound?  
Damn it  
“Next time! I’m meeting the Countess today!” She giggled with a playful curtsy.  
“My word! Well, go on now! We can’t keep the countess waiting can we?”  
Fable pushed forward, weaving between workers and townsfolk. The market was chaotic at this time of day. She didn’t mind much, however. Something about the crowded market filled her with excitement. She loved to watch the townsfolk’s gleeful expressions when they would find a bargain. To watch their faces light up when they ran into an old friend. It made her feel like less of an outsider. She could stay in the loop even if it was from a distance. Familiar magic began tickling the back of her mind as she walked.   
“Look!” Bonnie’s musical voice rang in Fable’s head.   
“Can’t. It’s too busy.” She shook her head, glancing up to look for the little songbird.  
Looking through her familiar’s eyes was normally a simple enough task but, it required surrendering her sense and that wasn’t an option in the middle of a lively street.  
“Look!!”  
“Ughh! Fine.” She stepped away from the traffic and made her way to an empty stall. From above, she could see what had Bonnie so interested.   
The man from the previous night! Leisurely shopping across the way without a care in the world, no different than any other patron. He compares two yellow plants, one each hand completely oblivious to the bird circling overhead.  
An impulse took hold of her and without thought, she returned to herself to march towards him. Against the flow of traffic, she squeezed between stalls and carts trying to reach him. A shrill raven called out catching his attention. His eyes lock onto her and he grins, mouthing a silent hello, as the bird lands on his shoulder. Before she can reach him, the path is blocked by a vendor and he slips away.   
Unbelievable.   
With the sake of her head, she rejoined the flow of traffic. Why did she do that? It was foolish! What was her plan to confront him in the street?  
“Follow?” Bonnie chirped.  
“Ugh no. Go on ahead to the palace. Scope things out for me” 

By the time She reached the stone stairway her mood had boiled over from annoyance to outright anger. She didn’t have time to chase after strange men in the streets! But, the nerve of him! Grinning from ear to ear like he was the cat who caught the canary. She grumbled to herself, walking briskly past the barking fortune tellers. She was hardly in the mood.  
A small, redhead rushed from the booth. She was just as preoccupied as Fable. Seeing as neither woman noticed the other till they collided with a thud.  
“Oh, perfect! As if I wasn’t already late…” She whined, scrambling to gather up the pomegranates that had been sent sailing across the steps. “I'm so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention and then there you were!”  
Fable bent down to gather a pomegranate that landed at her feet. She polished it off on her skirt before handing it over with a sheepish smile.  
“Ooh, thank you! How sweet of you to help. And after I bumped into you in the first place!” She beamed, “Wait! I know you! You're the magician the Countess told me about! I’m Portia, the head servant at the Palace!”  
Portia laced her arm through Fable’s, “Come on, I’ll show you the quickest way to the palace.”  
Portia’s cheerful energy scraped away the anxiety of meeting the countess or the rage she felt towards last night’s unwelcome guest. She was a lovely woman who most definitely possessed that rare gift of making those around her feel at ease regardless of the situation. Portia’s copper hair bouncing as she gives an animated description of the inside of the palace.   
“Can I ask you something!” Portia inquired, shifting her weight side to side, “I hope it isn’t terribly impolite?”   
Fable laughed with a dispersive wave, “Oh I think you’ll find I’m terribly impolite. I’m not quick to offend”   
“Are you…” Portia hesitated for a second, “Are you really an elf? I’ve just never met one in real life...”  
“Only half.” She smiled, “Sorry to disappoint. I know they aren’t a common folk this far north.”  
“Oh! Are you from the south then? I didn’t recognize your accent but I knew it wasn’t Vesuvian.”  
Fable pushed past the gnawing feeling that crept into her chest anytime someone inquired about her life beyond the past few years. Portia’s question should have been a harmless and mundane inquiry. Simple small talk. For Fable, however, it was a complex and possible completing question. In truth, she had no idea if her accent was southern or not. She was unsure how or where she was raised. The pang of resentment she felt when her ancestry was brought up led her to believe perhaps there was no love lost between herself and her eleven kin. Still, she couldn’t be sure.   
“I could be.” She shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant, “I can’t recall much of my past before the last two years. Asra says he found me by the side of the road during his journey back to Vesuvia- Some sort of accident he thinks.”  
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Portia let out a little gasp, her hands clasped over her mouth, “How awful!”  
“Please don’t feel bad, Portia!” Fable gave her arm a soft squeeze, “It was a perfectly ordinary question! How could you have known? And besides, I’ve been happy here in Vesuvia. Whoever I was before- It doesn't matter now.”  
She’d accepted long ago that all that she had been before Asra had found her was lost. Perhaps it was a blessing. She had gotten a fresh start. A life far away from what or whoever had brought her harm in the first place. She had been telling herself this for years - yet her heart still yearned for more and she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the simple life of a shopkeeper wasn’t what she was destined for.


End file.
